Wilf made his way to the entrance, picking up his rifle on the way, shuffling down the T-bar, not much wider than his shoulders. He stopped by the entrance and looked back towards where Tag was also mixing some grub for them. Living here for how long, he thought. A few days if the politicians sorted it out? A week? Or, if it all went to rat shit, weeks.
Chapter 21
BERGEN-HOHNE. 4 JULY 1984.
THE RED EFFECT −26 HOURS.
“This is an alert, this is an alert. This is an Active Edge alert. All military personnel report to their units immediately. This is not an exercise. I repeat, this is not an exercise. All military personnel report to their units immediately.”
William sat up slowly, grabbed his watch from the bedside table, and peered at the luminous figures and hands that told him it was one in the morning. He had been asleep for less than two hours. He felt movement alongside him as his wife also sat up, punching her pillows up so she was comfortable, and shuffled up close to her husband. Although William had slept fitfully for a couple of hours, his wife had lain awake thinking and worrying. Despite the fact that the soldiers’ families had been excluded from the detail regarding the military’s plans for evacuating the dependants living in West Germany, some information had filtered down. She was now starting to feel scared. Her husband would be leaving to deploy as ordered, and she had received instructions to be prepared should she and their daughter be required to move to the airport and be flown back to England.
“This is an alert, this is an alert. This is an Active Edge alert. All military personnel report to their units immediately. This is not an exercise. I repeat, this is not an exercise. All military personnel report to their units immediately.”
“How long will you be gone?”
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close. “Just for a few days, sweetheart. We’ll dig in somewhere, the politicians will do some more posturing, agree a compromise where they can all save face; then it will peter out and we can pack up and come back home.”
“Just a few days then?”
“Yes, no more.”
“Will me and Victoria have to leave tomorrow, do you think?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t know. They won’t want to do anything too soon. It will cost a fortune flying everyone back. If they do, you can use it as a holiday and go and see your mum.” He laughed. “Just be ready for when they call you, OK?”
“I will. We’ll miss you.”
He squeezed her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll miss you both too. Give her a hug and a kiss for me tomorrow, right?”
“This is an alert, this is an alert. This is an Active Edge alert. All military personnel report to their units immediately. This is not an exercise. I repeat, this is not an exercise. All military personnel report to their units immediately.”
As he removed his arm from around her shoulders, she wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him. “Don’t go, William. Please stay with me and Vicky.”
He felt her tears on his chest and he pulled away from her gently. “I have to, sweetheart. I have to go now.” Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he stood up and made his way around the end of the bed. He left the bedroom without looking back, knowing that, if he did, he would see his wife sobbing. Seeing her shaking shoulders would make it so much harder for him to leave, and he knew he had to make the break now. He closed the bedroom door behind him and was about to turn left towards the spare room when he stopped. Decision made, he turned around and headed towards his daughter’s bedroom. Easing the door open gently, he peered inside, his night vision still OK. He could make out his daughter’s form under the Bambi cover, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the mop of thick black hair clearly inherited from her mother. Her face was just above the edge of her covers and he crept over, kneeling down by the side of the bed. He stroked her hair gently. She didn’t stir; just the occasional twitch of her nose as she dreamt about her dolls or teddy, or the pet she kept asking for.
“You sleep well, angel. Daddy will be back to see you soon.”
He heard Sam’s nightdress rustle as she came through the doorway and he felt his wife’s presence as she knelt down, sidling up beside him. Nothing was said; they spent a few quiet moments together as a family, both praying that it would not be their last. William had reassured his wife that the Warsaw Pact and NATO were just flexing their muscles and that his regiment, along with many others, would be out there to bare their teeth. But that was all.
His wife was not entirely convinced though. She could sense his unease and, in spite of the news on BFBS (British Forces Broadcasting Services) playing the situation down, there were constant announcements concerning civilians working abroad, and that soldiers’ wives and families needed to fulfil their role in the evacuation programme for dependants that was being planned.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Just like her mother,” responded William, kissing Samantha on the cheek. “I have to go.”
“I’ll stay here with Vicky for a while. I don’t want to see you go. Be careful, William. Come back to us.”
He kissed her again, then got up off his knees and headed out of Victoria’s bedroom, hearing his wife’s gentle sobs as he closed the door, and made his way to the spare room. Once in the spare room, he dressed quickly, knowing he was already running late. But he didn’t care. They could throw the book at him if they wanted; he had needed to see his daughter one more time before he left to go into the unknown. He pulled on his combat trousers and the rest of his uniform then his boots. He didn’t bother with his NI patrol boots this time, but pulled on his combat highs. If it all kicked off, looking good would be the least of his problems, he thought. Survival would come to the fore. He hoisted his 58-pattern webbing onto his left shoulder and his kitbag on the other, crept out of the flat and bounced down the concrete steps to the ground floor.
Closing the main door behind him, he strode across to the car, threw his kit on the back seat, slumped into the driver’s position and started the engine which turned over immediately. Other car engines were turning over as the married quarters’ area came to life, with soldiers like himself answering the call to report for duty as ordered by the still roving RMPs with their Tannoy-mounted Land Rovers.
“This is an alert, this is an alert. This is an Active Edge alert. All military personnel report to their units immediately. This is not an exercise. I repeat, this is not an exercise. All military personnel report to their units immediately.”
Another Land Rover drove past slowly, the blue, flashing light bathing the street in its eerie glow, the RMP Corporal nodding to William as they passed his car. They too were part of this call to arms, not mere spectators overseeing an exercise but fulfilling an operational role in support of the British military force that was waking up and slowly gathering pace.
William pulled out and headed towards the road that would take him to the barracks, a steady flow of cars joining the road ahead and also behind him. A queue had formed at the entrance to the camp as they were checked in. The seriousness of what was occurring was brought home to William when he saw soldiers digging in at the entrance to the camp, and an FV432 armoured personnel carrier had pulled across the road forcing cars to zigzag around it. He drove through and, moments later, was amongst the hive of activity by the tank sheds, the grumble of tank engines warming up, soldiers and tank crew rushing to and from different parts of the tank park fulfilling tasks given to them by their officers or NCOs. He parked up and dragged his kit from the car and was immediately accosted by one of his fellow crewmen, Lance Corporal Ellis.
“Give us your kit, Patsy. I’ll stow it while you go to the armoury.”
“Everyone else here?”
“Yep. Troop’s pissed with you, so you’d better be quick.”
“OK, mate. Grab this lot then.” He handed his kitbag to Ellis and pulled his webbing on fully, recognising that everyone else was dressed ready to
do battle. Mark Ellis headed back to the tank sheds where their Chieftain was parked up, and William tore off towards the armoury to collect his weapon. On arriving at the camp, he had seen the first indication that this was for real; on entering the armoury, he experienced his second wake up call. The staff-sergeant handed Patsy his sub-machine gun along with six empty 34-round magazines and 200 live rounds of 9mm ammunition which he had to sign for. He found a vacant space and loaded the six magazines, placing the curved magazines in his ammunition pouches when full, the remaining rounds in another pouch. Once complete, he left the armoury and made his way to the tank sheds, striding up the centre road that ran between the line of sheds either side. The pace around the sheds was almost manic; clouds of white smoke from the exhausts as the L60 engines coughed into life; others just ticking over to warm up ready for the order to move.
William waved to Mark who was sitting on the glacis of the tank, reaching out his arm so his fellow tankie could hoist him up. Now Patsy had joined the crew, call sign One Bravo was complete.
“Corporal Patterson, you honour us with your presence,” announced Lieutenant Wesley-Jones as he climbed out of the turret.
“Sorry, sir, a bit of a queue in the armoury.”
The Lieutenant scowled. “Go and find Sergeant Andrews. Tell him to round up the troop for a briefing.”
“Sir.” William winked at Mark Ellis then dropped down to the ground and went in search of the troop sergeant and to round the crews up for an update. Within a few minutes, they were all gathered around the troop commander’s Chieftain tank.
The Chieftain tank was the backbone of 1 British Corps’ armoured force and 1st Armoured, 3rd Armoured and 4th Armoured Divisions were the formations that would use them to stem the tide of any potential attack by the Warsaw Pact, standing up to the thousands of Russian tanks that would be thrown against them. The design of the Chieftain, the successor to the world-renowned Centurion, was essentially a trade-off between three divergent factors: on the one hand, firepower, provided by the 120mm tank gun, but in competition with mobility and protection. The primary role of the Chieftain was to defeat the enemy’s main battle tanks, such as the T-64, T-72 and the latest model, the T-80, so heavy firepower was a necessity. But the enemy tanks could hit back, and hit back hard, so protection was equally essential. But both of these two factors had an impact on weight and size, so an appropriate power pack was required to drive it into battle. This created a dilemma for the designers: to achieve the right balance between the three characteristics. The Chieftain tanks that the 14th/20th Hussars would go to war in were a culmination of those mutually conflicting factors.
Lieutenant Wesley-Jones called them in close. All were sipping mugs of tea that had miraculously arrived from somewhere. This could possibly be their last hot drink for some time. He shuffled his backside on one of the track guard stowage bins, his booted feet dangling over the edge. To his right was his crew: Mackey, the driver, Lance Corporal (L/CPL) Ellis, the loader, and Corporal ‘Patsy’ Patterson, his gunner. Sitting along the track guard of the tank opposite was Sergeant Andrews, tank commander of call sign Two-Bravo and the troop’s second-in-command; sitting alongside him his crew: L/CPL Owen, his gunner, Trooper Wilson, his loader, and Trooper Lowe, his driver. To his left was Corporal Simpson, commander of call sign Three-Bravo, with his gunner L/CPL Moore, loader Trooper Robinson and driver Trooper Carter. These twelve men made up the crews for Bravo-Troop, Two-Squadron of the 14th/20th Hussars Regiment.
Wesley-Jones placed his cup down on the tank. “I’ve just been briefed by Major Lewis. We will be moving to our wartime locations and deploying in a defensive posture around the town of Gronau. Although our deployment areas have never been revealed to us, we have conducted exercises in that area on a number of occasions. We are familiar with the lay of the land and the ground we will operate in. The difference is that we may well be establishing a defensive placement for real this time. All completed your checks?”
Sergeant Andrews responded first. “Yes, sir. This is for real, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sergeant. We have to assume that. The politicians are still talking, but there seems to be no sign of Soviet troops dispersing. Their claim is that they are on a planned, notified exercise and have no desire to finish it before it has run its course. Unfortunately for us, there are indications that the Soviet forces are massing close to the Inner German Border, and there have been reports of East German and Polish units also on the move.”
“Why haven’t we crashed out sooner then, sir?” asked Corporal Simpson.
“I don’t think there’s a straight answer to that, Corporal. The Soviets have been running these exercises for years. Nothing has happened as a consequence so far.”
“We’ve become complacent is what you’re saying then, sir,” suggested Andrews.
“That may be the case, but we are where we are. There’s no point in us bleating about it now. Our command on arrival at Gronau will be Combat Team Bravo, our squadron headquarters; our battlegroup headquarters will be our own 14th/20th. We’ll be leading the squadron and will be joined by a 438 detachment and an infantry platoon from the Royal Green Jackets. We move out in fifteen minutes, so wind up and let’s get this show on the road.”
Sergeant Andrews suddenly called out. “Shun.”
They slipped off the side of their tanks, brought their arms to their sides and stood to attention as their officer commanding, Major Lewis, joined the group. As the commander of Two-Squadron, he would be leading his fourteen Chieftain tanks and their respective crews into combat, should it come to that. But his responsibilities would be increased once his command became a combat team. In command of a combined arms unit, an armour-heavy subdivision of the 14th/20th battlegroup with infantry, and a guided weapons unit attached, his responsibility was considerable.
“At ease.”
The major was short in stature, but his five-foot-seven height belied the seasoned soldier that had earned the respect of his men, particularly during their arduous tours of Northern Ireland. Like Lieutenant Wesley-Jones, he preferred to lead his unit from the front, getting to know the real men behind the faces, knowing their strengths and weaknesses: working on the weaknesses to make them better soldiers and men, and making use of their strengths to ensure his squadron was in the best in the regiment. You could only do that working alongside your men.
“Stand-easy, gentlemen.”
The men relaxed, leaning against the cold slab sides of their tanks as they waited to hear what he had to say.
“As I have just heard your troop commander telling you, you will be moving out in under fifteen minutes, so I shall make this brief so you can get on the move. I’m sure you are all wondering what is going to emerge over these coming days, weeks. You are not on your own in that respect, I can assure you. I have been authorised to tell you that peace talks have taken a turn for the worse.”
There was silence amongst the men as they looked at each other. Although there was an element of excitement at being crashed-out for real, with perhaps the opportunity to put into practice everything they had learnt and trained for over the last few years, fear was slowly starting to creep in.
“It is evident that Soviet and Warsaw Pact forces are gathering along the Inner German Border and deploying into assembly areas. Although talks continue, I have my own personal doubts that they will come to anything. The Warsaw Pact is mobilising, as are we. Although our Government, along with the governments of our NATO Allies, has asked the Soviets to cease their manoeuvres until talks are concluded, the Kremlin have declined, declaring that we should withdraw our forces and return to barracks. Naturally we would be foolish to comply with that request. So, men, this is not an exercise; it is for real. Just apply the skills and expertise you have acquired during your training and practices, and we will come through this. There will be casualties. I can’t promise survival. But, if we work as the close-knit unit we are, we will give a good account of ourselves and come through the othe
r side.”
He waited a moment and looked over the assembled men. Some he knew well, others not so well, but he was confident they wouldn’t let him or the regiment down.
“Just carry out your duties as you have always done; then we will do our bit to ensure the security of this country and, as a consequence, the security of our own country. 4th Armoured Division is already moving into position, and by now reconnaissance units from 1 Br Corps will be in position watching likely border crossing points. 4th Armoured will take up a defensive position right across our front acting as a covering force giving us, and 3rd Armoured Division, the opportunity to deploy and dig in along our designated stop line. Our northern boundary will be south of Hanover and our southern boundary Einbeck, with 3rd Armoured Division to our south. The regiment will become a battlegroup headquarters, designated 14th/20th BG and will have mechanised infantry units from the Royal Green Jackets attached. Those RGJ units will come under our command. We have been designated Combat Team Bravo and will have a platoon of infantry and 438 swingfire assigned to us. As a consequence, we will lose delta troop who will be attached to the RGJ battlegroup. We will deploy along the western bank of the River Leine to the west of Gronau, although some elements will be across the river, dug in on the outskirts of the town itself. Your troop commander has the coordinates and you are to start the move to your initial assembly area.” He looked at his watch. “In the next ten minutes. A Land Rover from the admin troop will lead with an FV434 from the LAD at the rear of the packet. There will be no flashing lights or a blue-light escort. You are on your own. We are effectively operating under wartime conditions. Don’t push the march too hard, but I want you off the road before first light. The rest of the squadron will be thirty minutes behind you, and the rest of the regiment fifteen minutes later. Any questions? Yes, Sergeant Andrews?”
“Sir. We have full ammo bins and our fuel tanks have been topped up, but will resupply be close by once we get to our destination?”
The Red Effect (Cold War) Page 19